Case 9239: Boy of Baker Street
by Dr. Phoenix
Summary: Sequel to "Lady of the Lair," as requested by Devilgirl123, using the ideas she suggested for the first chapter. Anyway, Basil doesn't particularly enjoy being an uncle, especially when his brother-in-law (the boy's father) used to be one of Ratigan's men. However, his nephew has to stay with him for a couple days when his family's guest is falsely accused. Disney owns all.
1. Meeting Ginger

**Meeting Ginger**

Morning seemed years away. I was far too excited to sleep. After tossing and turning most of the night, I was elated when my parents finally came in to wake me up.

"Are we ready to go?!" I asked impatiently.

"Breakfast first," Mum reminded me, briefly resting her hand on her waist.

(For some reason, she'd been doing that a lot as soon as she started gaining weight. I wondered if there was something wrong with her stomach because it wasn't at all like her to allow herself to become so plump.)

Mum's an excellent cook, but I was nearly too excited to eat breakfast. The meal seemed to be taking hours.

"Hurry up! We're going to miss it!"

Dad chuckled. "We're coming, son."

"Calm down, sweetheart." Mum tousled my hair. "We're not going to miss anything."

We finally left the flat and wandered to an open field where a large number of other rodents had gathered to watch a famous shooter from the USA. Her grandfather had lived as a marshal during the times of the Old West.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer began, "all the way from Texas, USA, the best shooter in the West: Ginger!"

A lady with eyes slightly darker than her shoulder length, auburn hair walked out of a tent. She was wearing a denim skirt and black leather boots.

Mum's eyes widened. "Herschel, she's so young! She can't be a day over nineteen, if she's even reached that age!"

We watched in amazement as she hit the center of every target with only one shot, firing almost too rapidly for our eyes to follow the movement. When she was finished, she showed the crowd a necklace with a silver charm: two guns crossing each other with her name engraved at the bottom.

"At the end of every show," Ginger began, "one lucky mouse is going to be given a one of a kind necklace. No two of these are the same."

She looked around the crowd, tapping her chin with her finger. I could hardly believe my luck when she walked over to me and smiled, bending her knees so she would be closer to my height.

"Hello there, little guy. What's your name?"

I introduced myself.

"It's nice to meet you, sweetheart. Did you enjoy the show?"

"I loved it!" I answered. "You were so great!"

She giggled. "Thank you so much! Here, this is for you." She placed the necklace around my neck.

"Thanks, Ginger!"

"You're most welcome." She smiled at Mum and Dad. "And you must be his parents!"

"I'm Herschel Crofton," Dad answered. "This is my wife, Bryna, and of course you've already met our son."

"A pleasure to meet you both!" Ginger shook their hands.

"The pleasure is ours, dear," Mum replied. "How long will you be in London?"

"A couple months."

"Well, we'd be honored to show you around the city. Where are you staying?"

"The inn about a block north of here."

Mum shook her head. "Honey, there are far more comfortable accommodations than that. Would you like to stay with us until we can find you a better hotel?"

Ginger looked as if she were uncertain about the idea, but she didn't wish to offend Mum's hospitality.

Sensing her hesitation, Mum reassured her, "There's no need to fret, dear. My brother's a detective, so you know I'd soon be arrested if I ever caused any trouble. My family and I would be delighted to have you as our guest."

"I wouldn't want to impose…" Ginger glanced down slightly as if unsure how to finish her sentence.

Mum smiled, resting her hand on her waist again. "It won't be for another fortnight at least. By that time, we'll have found you a much nicer hotel room, somewhere much more comfortable than where you're staying now."

After considering the situation, Ginger finally replied, "That sounds wonderful, ma'am. Thank you."

It was a bit strange having someone else in our home, but despite her skill at firing guns, Ginger was actually very quiet. She also made sure to help my parents with the housework, and she was kind enough to tell me a few stories.

I love hearing stories, especially about pirates or the Wild West or other adventures. In fact, I love almost any kind of story except mysteries or detective books, but there's a good reason for that.

My uncle hates me.

Uncle Cliff always scoops me up and puts me on his shoulders, or he takes me on outings or teaches me how to play games. (I'm not so good at cricket yet, but Uncle Cliff says I'm learning well.)

However, my other uncle, the most famous investigator in London, has no time for me. He always ignores me, and he rarely speaks to me unless it's to scold me for something or the other.

I don't think he ever fully forgave Mum for marrying Dad. My parents met because Dad was one of Ratigan's men, and Mum was once a hostage. Since Mum married a criminal, she's a disgrace to the Basil family name and the memory of our ancestors, or so my uncle claims.

My mere existence troubles him: Detective Basil of Baker Street's nephew is the son of a former criminal.


	2. Accusations

**Accusations**

Mum seemed surprised when the police knocked on our door the next day. "Is something the matter, officers?"

"I'm afraid so," one of them replied. "Your houseguest is under arrest."

"On what charge?!"

"She murdered innocent citizens during her bank robbery last night!"

Ginger was taken aback. "Sirs, there must be some mistake! I never robbed any banks, and I'd certainly never kill anyone!"

"The bullets we found match that of the gun you use in your shooting demonstrations," one of the officers explained. "Witnesses say the killer had an American accent."

"But surely there must be some mistake!"

"For your sake, I certainly hope so. I'm not sure what you Americans do to murderers, but here, we have ways of making sure they never again cause harm! Now, if you'll come quietly…"

"She's not going anywhere at the moment," Mum stated. "She may be a suspect, but you lack enough evidence to convict her, so she'll be staying right where she is!"

The police officers didn't seem too happy, but no one in law enforcement dares to argue with a Basil, so they left. Ginger, who was badly shaken, was nearly in tears.

"Don't let them take me!" she pleaded.

Mum pulled her into a hug. "No need to fret, dear. You've done nothing wrong, so you won't be punished. It's as simple as that. Don't you worry; we'll see this matter cleared up."

"Thank you!" Ginger clung to her as Mum continued to rub her back and stroke her hair for comfort.

"I'm putting the Queen of Crime on the case," Dad announced.

"That's an excellent idea!" agreed Mum. "We'll all go to Baker Street. Surely my brother would agree to help us as well. It might be better if our son and our guest stayed there for a while; he'd keep them from any false charges."

When we arrived at Baker Street, Mrs. Judson welcomed us and brought cheese crumpets. Mum introduced Ginger and briefly explained about the false accusations.

"Poor dear!" Mrs. Judson patted Ginger's hand. "There's no need to fret, love. Mr. Basil would never allow any harm to come to the innocent. As soon as he returns from his errands, we'll put him on the case, and he'll have it solved in no time."

Dad tipped his hat. "If you'll pardon me for a few minutes, Mrs. Judson, I would like to know what the Queen of Crime thinks of the matter."

"Of course, Mr. Crofton."

With that, Dad went up to the flat above my uncle's. Toby, my uncle's dog, lives there with Felicia, the cat able to outwit any felon in Mousedom. Apparently, she used to be evil, but after she almost got killed, she changed her ways. She now dedicates her life to solving and preventing crimes, and since she used to live with Ratigan and now lives with Basil, she knows all the wiles of both the world's greatest criminal mind and the greatest detective in all Mousedom. Dad says that cat is rightly called "the Queen of Crime" because she knows what misdeed will be committed next before the felons themselves figure it out. Although she doesn't speak, except to very young children, several of Ratigan's former henchmen have figured out how to communicate with her through a sort of sign language.

The door opened, and my uncle's friend, the Butcher of Baker Street, entered the flat. Mum didn't seem at all pleased to see him, but she attempted to smile politely.

"Good day to you, Dr. Dawson," she greeted.

The butcher tipped his hat. "And a good day to you as well, Mrs. Crofton. Have you come to visit your brother?"

Mum nodded, staring at him suspiciously.

Ever since I was old enough to hear stories, Mum had taught me all about doctors, explaining that they were nothing more than butchers and executioners. The average physician committed more murders than Ratigan ever did, and any Basil who trusted a doctor was a disgrace to our family name and a shame to the memory of our ancestors.

Dr. Dawson seemed unusual for a butcher. He always showed me how to make toy boats or kites, or he'd give me some marbles or jacks to play with. If he wasn't a doctor, he might have been a good uncle or something. In fact, he actually had a few nieces and nephews of his own.

However, I realized that I was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. If Mum said he wasn't to be trusted, then he was a dangerous mouse.

My thoughts were interrupted when my uncle finally entered the flat. Without a word, he crossed the room and began playing his violin. After several minutes, he finally sighed.

"Bryna," he began, "this is a most inopportune time. I'm in no humor to tolerate this intrusion."

Mum recoiled as if she had been slapped. "Since when is a visit from your own sister considered encroachment?!"

"You, madame, have tarnished the family name by taking the surname of a felon!" my uncle replied, pointing toward the door. "You may take the liberty of showing yourself out."

Mum stood akimbo. "The police arrived at my door, accusing the innocent of murder and bank robbery. My guest would appreciate if you would take the case for her. Find the true criminals, and she'll be eliminated as a suspect, not to mention all of Mousedom will be safer."

"This is a most inopportune time," my uncle repeated. "Dawson has informed me only this morning that his sister will be joining us as we partake of our evening meal."

"And I say Ginger and your nephew would be safer at Baker Street until this mess is straightened out!"

My uncle seemed furious, but he knew arguing with Mum would do him no good.

Mum hugged me. "Don't worry. Your uncle will have this case solved in a day or two, half a week at the most. Then you'll be back home. Stay away from the butcher. Dr. Dawson may seem a harmless mouse, but even Professor Ratigan knew how to act like a gentleman. If you need anything, ask Mrs. Judson."

She turned to Ginger. "I promise no harm will come to you. We'll have this mess sorted out before you know it, and we'll still help you find a nice hotel and show you around the city. Everything's going to be alright."

Ginger nodded, and Mum went upstairs to check on Dad and the Queen of Crime before returning home, leaving us alone with my pompous uncle and the courteous butcher.


	3. Mrs Stafford

**Mrs. Stafford**

"Dr. Dawson," I began, "I know Mum says I'm not supposed to talk to you, but I have a question about medical science."

"What question is that?" he asked.

"Do you know where every part of the body is?"

He looked as if he wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know how many sorry hides the average mouse has and where they're located."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "'Sorry hides'?"

"Dad says when he worked for Ratigan, it was dangerous. Ratigan got mad a lot, and then he killed everyone for no reason...or something like that...but there was this mouse who always knew what to say at the right time, and sometimes he could convince Ratigan not to kill anybody. Dad always says, 'He saved all our sorry hides more than once!'"

Dr. Dawson looked as if he were trying not to laugh. "I think that just means he saved their lives." He changed the subject. "Would you like to know how your heart sounds?"

"How could I do that without having my heart ripped out like a sacrifice of the ancient Aztecs?"

He pulled an object from his black bag. "This is a stethoscope. You put these in your ears, and this part rests just over your heart."

It was strange hearing my own heart. It sounded a bit like a hum. Apparently with humans, it's much slower and sounds more like a drumbeat.

When the butcher went to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Judson needed any assistance preparing the meal, I began exploring the flat. Noticing a chemistry set, I began mixing the contents of the beakers until my uncle demanded to know precisely what I believed I was doing.

"I want to see something explode," I explained.

"Chemistry is a science used to acquire valuable information!" he scolded. "We do not attempt to cause unnecessary explosions!"

In a desperate attempt to get away from my uncle's constant admonishment, I wandered outside. I picked up a small twig and held it between my fingers. Leaning against the building, I moved the stick close to my mouth, forming my lips into a circle and exhaling as I pulled it away.

"Having a cigar?"

I was startled by the unexpected voice, but I smiled when I realized who it was. "Hello, Mrs. Stafford."

"Let me guess. Your uncle and my brother were being vexations, as usual, so you came outside for a break." She grinned. "Not that I blame you!"

"Did you want to play?" I offered.

"Why not?" She crossed her arms. "That miserable Basil! He won't rest 'til he sees us all swing! He arrested two of our own last week!"

"Tell me about it!" I replied. "I don't know who's worse, him or the boss!"

I really enjoyed our game of criminals. In reality, Mrs. Stafford is a very kind woman. She's very patient and understanding. In fact, she helps other rodents get their lives together after they've made terrible mistakes or are having trouble with something, such as grief or bitterness. When Dad was pardoned by the queen for his past crimes on the condition that he got professional counseling, Mrs. Stafford was the one who helped him reform his life.

After a while, Dr. Dawson stepped outside to see what I was doing.

"Good to see you, Hippo!" Mrs. Stafford ran to hug him, pinching his face like elderly women sometimes do to young children. "Isn't widdle Hippo just the sweedest widdle thing?" She tapped his nose. "Yes him is! Him's just the nicest widdle bwuffer!" She poked his ribs. "Gained a little weight, haven't you, Hippo?!"

He rolled his eyes. "It's good to see you again, Lenora, but could you possibly refrain from speaking to me as if I were an infant, and…?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! I'm just so happy to be visiting my little brother!"

Mrs. Stafford once explained to me that "Hippo" was a cross between "Hippocrates" and "hippopotamus." She told me that if I ever had a little brother or sister, I'd understand why she still enjoys pestering Dr. Dawson, even though they're both adults. When I had responded that I enjoyed being an only child, she had simply smiled, but there had been something almost ominous about it; I just couldn't figure out what. Even though it's her job to hear the secrets of other rodents in order to help them with their problems, sometimes I was sure Mrs. Stafford had a few secrets of her own.


	4. Simon Dies

**Simon Dies**

After supper, Mrs. Stafford bade us all a good evening, but just when I was getting ready for bed, I heard someone pounding on the door.

My uncle sighed. "Who could that be at this unearthly hour?!"

Dr. Dawson opened the door. "Lenora?! What brings you…?"

"It's Simon!" Mrs. Stafford explained. "He's been shot!"

Dr. Dawson quickly got things in order in his black bag.

"What's he going to do?" I asked.

"He shall do what he deems necessary to save his life," my uncle responded, "although I must express my disapproval. I most certainly would never entrust a physician with my health. Do retire for the evening. Children need the proper amount of rest."

"I can't go to sleep until you tuck me in," I answered. "Then you have to tell me a story."

"I simply have no time for such frivolities!"

"Mr. Basil!" exclaimed Mrs. Judson. "He is your nephew! Is it right that you should have time for every family in Mousedom except your own?!"

My uncle rolled his eyes, but he took me to the room where I'd be spending the night, sighing as he fluffed my pillows and tucked me in. Then he sat at the foot of my bed.

"Precisely what manner of anecdote is required?!" he demanded brusquely.

"Tell about the time when you were caught in Ratigan's trap!" I begged eagerly.

He rolled his eyes. "I most certainly was not entrapped by my former nemesis!"

"How about the story of how Ratigan used to be your best friend when you were children, but then you ended up hating each other, and you still haven't gotten over his death because you still mourn the loss of your childhood friend rather than rejoicing in the demise of your enemy, even though you have no time for your family, and they haven't betrayed you nearly as much as Ratigan did?"

"I do not care to discuss any of my former cases involving Ratigan!"

"Who's Simon?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Their brother," my uncle explained. "There were six Dawson children: Daniel, Lenora, Simon, David, Corine, and Meta. Daniel was murdered on what he had intended to be the day of his matrimony. Lenora chose to pursue a career in psychological science. Simon is the hapless victim of this evening's felony. David, as you're already aware, is my most trusted associate, with whom I do all my cases."

I was bored. I didn't want to hear the story of the Dawson children. I had wanted to hear something about Ratigan or my uncle. In fact, I was so bored that I fell asleep before I learned what happened to Corine and Meta.

I was awakened by the sound of the living room door opening, followed by footsteps across the floor. It sounded as if someone were carrying something.

"How is he, David?" Mrs. Stafford whispered.

Dr. Dawson sighed. "I'm afraid only time will tell."

"I'm so sorry. I should have gotten someone else to take care of his injury. It must be horrible for you after what happened to Daniel and all those brave mice who received similar wounds during the war. It's just that you were the only one…"

"The only one to whom you'd entrust your brother's life? The only one you thought could be trusted to help him?"

"Actually, I was going to say you were the only one who wouldn't leave me with an outrageous medical bill for this."

The doctor made no reply.

"Is there a guestroom where he could spend the night?" asked Mrs. Stafford.

"Daniel?" a voice muttered groggily. "Is that you and Margaret?"

I couldn't hear what Dr. Dawson was saying under his breath, but I'm sure he wasn't reciting the lyrics to the national anthem.

"Yes, Simon, it's Margaret," Mrs. Stafford replied. "I'm here with Daniel. What can we do for you?"

"Margaret, please tell Daniel I'm not ready to join you yet," Simon murmured. "I have a message for David. He has to tell Basil who shot me." He paused to breathe heavily several times. "They're trying to frame her. That girl from America has done nothing wrong."

"Who shot you?"

"Brandy and Sherry."

"Why did they do it?"

"I was at the bank."

"Was it a bank robbery?"

"Yes. The banks of the Thames."

Seeing that her questions weren't producing any helpful answers, Mrs. Stafford gave up.

"You can tell David all about it when you see him again," she stated. "We're not ready for you yet. You still have a lot of life ahead of you."

"Daniel, have you been at peace?" Simon asked.

Seeming unsure of himself, Dr. Dawson answered, "Why, yes. Absolutely. I've been resting rather comfortably, thank you."

"I also have to tell David about Lenora's arm."

"What about it?"

"She's hurt," Simon explained. "I noticed she had a cut on her arm when I came to her flat."

"Did you go to her flat so she could find someone to help you?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. I didn't have time to say anything before she told me to rest while she found help. I think David came and started doctoring me."

Simon became silent. After a while, Mrs. Stafford remarked that their brother had lost consciousness again.

"We'll take him to the guestroom," Dr. Dawson stated. "Then, as I can do nothing more for him, I want you to tell me what happened to your arm."

"It's nothing, David. I just had a little mishap in the kitchen."

"Lenora, what are you not telling me?"

Mrs. Stafford sighed. "I was pickpocketed, not because I have as much money as the late Ingham family, but because I am the sister of Basil's associate. My arm was cut when I used it to block my throat." She changed the subject. "Let's get Simon to the guestroom."


	5. The Case Is Solved---Again

**The Case Is Solved…Again**

As soon as Dr. Dawson and Mrs. Stafford had carried their brother to the guestroom, they returned to the living room.

"I'm going up to see the Queen of Crime," Mrs. Stafford whispered.

"First you're going to sit down and let me have a look at your wound," the doctor argued.

"Thank you, David, but that won't be necessary."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"We can't argue, not even in a whisper. I don't want to wake the rest of the household."

"Then why don't you have a seat and allow me to care for you so this will all be over before anyone's rest is disturbed by our conversation?"

"Where did you learn to be so stubborn?"

"I believe I learned my obstinacy from my older sister."

"You're only winning because I'm allowing you to do so." There was a pause, followed by, "See? I told you it was nothing serious."

"Not too serious at all," the doctor agreed. "You won't even need any sutures."

"What are you doing now?" Mrs. Stafford demanded.

"I'm going to clean the wound."

"No, you're not!"

At this, I tiptoed out of my room, toward the living room. I wanted to see if Dr. Dawson really harmed the afflicted, and if so, how much damage he caused.

Mrs. Stafford was sitting comfortably in my uncle's favorite chair. My uncle's associate was rummaging through his black bag of torture devices. He pulled out a small container of some sort of liquid and poured a little onto a cloth.

"This won't take any longer than a few seconds," he promised.

"This is a problem," Mrs. Stafford remarked.

"How so?"

"Any time a doctor reassures you that something will only take a few seconds, or worse that something will 'be over in a minute,' you know it's going to hurt like you wouldn't believe."

"It shouldn't be that bad. If you're feeling a bit nervous, try…"

"Taking a deep breath and shutting my eyes?" She nearly smirked. "I've heard that one before."

Dr. Dawson sighed. "I honestly don't like doing this to patients. I'd rather everyone just remained well and had no need for my services. However, I'm afraid this has to be done. If it isn't, you risk having the wound become infected, and then it will be exceedingly more painful."

"A-alright." Mrs. Stafford gripped the arms of the chair tightly, trying to keep her own arm still, even though her hands were trembling.

To my astonishment, the doctor actually tended her wound as quickly and carefully as possible, trying to comfort his sister as he worked, but the pain must have been dreadful. She flinched and tried to pull away, making strange noises as she gasped sharply and exhaled through clenched teeth. She even begged for mercy.

"The worst is over," Dr. Dawson informed her as he began bandaging the injury.

"Did I disappoint you?" Mrs. Stafford asked nonchalantly.

"What do you mean, Lenora?"

"I know you doctors can't stand cooperative patients," she explained. "You just love watching them squirm and hearing their screams of agony. You just hate when a patient keeps still and remains quiet. To be honest with you, David, I thought this whole time that you were such a skillful physician that I'd barely even notice when you cleaned my wound, and I was right. However, I didn't want to disappoint you; I wanted to give you the trouble that you've come to expect from your patients. How'd I do?"

Dr. Dawson didn't answer. After he finished helping her, he crossed the room and began beating his head against the wall.

"That's not very healthy, Doctor," Mrs. Stafford chided.

My uncle's associate seemed relieved when Simon woke up the following morning. (I guess he didn't die, but he came rather close.) However, Simon was confused about where he was and how he had come to be there. The last memory he had was being at Mrs. Stafford's home, waiting for her to get help.

"Do you want to tell us who shot you?" Dr. Dawson asked.

"Brandy and Sherry from the banks of the Thames," Simon answered. "They came into my bank and robbed it while I was waiting in line for a teller. They're trying to get rid of the Dawson family because they want you to die."

"For what reason?!"

"You're Basil's friend. Basil's world ended when he lost his only friend years ago. He would be unable to bear it if he lost the only friend he has now."

Before Simon had a chance to explain anything else, there was a knock at the door, and the Queen of Crime pushed two mice through it. They were both dressed like Ginger, and they spoke with American accents.

"It's Brandy and Sherry!" exclaimed Simon. "Are they using Basil's guest as a scapegoat?!"

"These are the two rogues who pickpocketed me!" Mrs. Stafford interjected.

One of the suspects sighed. "That blasted cat! Who does she think she is?!"

"She thinks she is the Queen of Crime," Dr. Dawson explained, "and she's never failed to find a villain yet!"

My uncle quickly solved the remainder of the case. These two were Englishmen who had dressed like American women in order to fool Mouseland Yard into eliminating them as suspects. When an American gun show had come to London, they had found the perfect opportunity to commit several felonies because there was no shortage of innocent mice who would be blamed. They had intended to kill the Dawson siblings, using their funerals as a way to find the doctor so they could murder him in order to cause great distress for my uncle. They were notorious bank robbers who had been arrested years ago but had somehow managed to escape. By the way, "Brandy" and "Sherry" weren't they're real names; they just used the names of their favorite drinks as a sort of code. They also typically drank in a pub near the banks of the Thames.

My uncle stepped outside to speak with the Queen of Crime, who was lying in front of the living room window.

"Did anyone assist you in solving this case before I had the opportunity to set the matter at rest?" he asked.

The cat nodded.

"An individual or a group?"

She tapped the ground once.

"Could you identify this rodent?"

She nodded and made a gesture as if putting on a ring.

"Married?"

The cat nodded yet again and pointed to my uncle.

"Into my family?" He shook his head. "For once, you have erred! I have but one in-law, and that is my sister's husband."

The Queen of Crime still nodded.

"Herschel Crofton has assisted you?! But how?! He too was a felon!"

She pointed to herself to remind my uncle of her own past.

"It pains me greatly to make this confession, but I fear that perhaps I have misjudged him. I shall attempt to make amends at once!"

The cat shook her head and placed a paw on her stomach. She then moved her two front paws as if indicating that she was rocking a baby.

"Oh, good heavens, no!" my uncle exclaimed.

The Queen of Crime glared.

My uncle said no more, but he actually took me to Regent's Park later that afternoon. It was a lot of fun running through the park until I fell and scraped a knee. When Dr. Dawson offered to help me, I hesitated. I remembered Mum's warnings about how dangerous it was to entrust one's health to a physician, as well as how I would be a disgrace to our family and the memory of our ancestors if I did so; however, I also remembered how truly caring my uncle's associate had seemed when his sister was injured, and how she had praised his skill as a doctor.

I was indecisive too long. Before I made up my mind one way or the other, I saw Dr. Dawson rummaging through his bag. My uncle gripped my shoulder.

"All will be well," he assured me. "I shall not speak a word of this to your mother if you shall not. One cannot be an ignominy to one's relations if one's family members never learn of the event. Is it not so?"

Against my better judgment, I allowed the doctor to help me. I actually felt better when he was finished.

That night, my uncle attempted to tell me stories about his former cases, although his associate proved to be the better storyteller. Ginger was nearly crying from the relief that her name was cleared and the true culprits had been arrested.

When Dad came to get me the following morning, my uncle actually shook his hand. I was surprised. However, when I followed Dad home, I was even more astonished.

Mum was lying in bed, holding a small baby. She smiled and motioned for me to come closer.

"Your new little sister," she whispered. "The stork brought her yesterday."

After the interactions I had seen between Mrs. Stafford and Dr. Dawson, I knew I didn't want a sister. In fact, after all the interactions I'd seen between my two uncles, I didn't even think I wanted a brother.

"Can you take her back?" I asked. "I don't want her."

My parents had simply laughed and tried to get me to cuddle the baby. She's kind of cute, but she cries all night and demands my parents' attention constantly. I feel like I'm trapped in an awful nightmare.

Does anyone want to buy a little sister?


End file.
